Consider the Odds
by Faery Tragedy
Summary: Pre-LotR. When orc raids plunder the forests of Mirkwood, Legolas must choose between two maidens, each seeking control over both Kingdom and Prince. However, as this is happening, Mirkwood drifts closer to raze... Not your ordinary L/OC. **Complete**
1. The Sorceress and the Apprentice

Disclaimer: As always I do not own any characters settings places that Mr. Tolkien (who's up there with the wonderful Marion Zimmer Bradley- did I spell that right?) created. Also, I am making no money off this fic.

A/N: This is completely experimental and spontaneous. I wanted to see if I could write a fic about Legolas, a character that I don't exactly favor (Dear Goddess I'm going to get flamed for that), and somehow find it decent. This is the outcome. 

Chapter One: 

It was indeed false that Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood (although he desired to not follow that name) was lost. He was surely in the grand forests of Mirkwood, the outlying forests. The blood red sun had encircled the mounds of purple and pinkish clouds that huddled clearly in the horizon. However, the elf could vaguely see the horizon, for the trees cut into his keen elf vision by far.

His comely stallion, touched by a hint of pure white, trotted slower, embracing the gentle touch by Legolas. The elf's stern face was upon the forest horizon, where little light shone, however, it was nearly enough for him to get by. It was not the simple matter of finding his father's fortress, hidden deep in the outlying forest, but arriving there before sunset. The matter seemed abroad, filling his mind with a scorning from his father, although his father was far from cruel. He just did not favor his son's late advents.

The war was still waxing and that, indeed, was a problem for it was quite dangerous to wander the outlying forests at dusk. A horrid war, causing much bloodshed even now. It was not on the matter of either religion or territory, but the worst fate his world, in which he loved, faced. Legolas steadied his breathing to a mere silent touch of his tongue against the air. He could vaguely taste the flavor of dew, nearly lick it from the warm air.

And the sweetness of the breeze relaxed him, for he would surely not meet his deadline. Legolas's stallion left muddy footprints in the uneasy dirt of the forest. The elf felt a slight hint of bewilderment as this thought crossed his mind: _What if I shall find my way not before a horrid, troublesome raid of Orcs arrives? I will be unaided if, indeed, this happens, and it has a great chance of. For those fiends have captured many farmlands and cottages in my outlying Kingdom, which I cannot find an answer. It could be as I am next a victim. _

With an unsettled breath, Legolas urged his steed quicker, but quietly, for there was a faint rustle of leaves. The stallion walked languidly, yet cautiously, as Legolas bid, through the drear woods. His stern face was set upon a faint clearing of sunlight. If there was, truly, a breaking of light through the trees, it must mean there is a clearing and perhaps a dwelling as well.

This was smart and, for not only elves, but also Legolas in person, was very clever. He managed a silent groan as his horse trotted gently, as wind on a raven's wing, through the heavy mud of Mirkwood. Legolas's flesh was damp from the humidity, yet the temperature did not effect him directly.

His eyes did not betray him, for in the distance, his saw smoke! Fine, gray smoke gave the elf comfort wholly. Legolas petted his stallion, for bearing the burden of carrying him through the murky forest all afternoon, and dismounted. 

There stood a cottage. It was as fabled ones should look- a stone snowy in colour, stone chimney, with an arch door, plastered with bars of black, and grass all about it. _This simple cottage should be nothing to fear and most-likely will give me a place to stay for the night. I cannot possibly find my father's fortress in this dusk, amongst raids of orcs! _

A heavily pink shade of clouds rolled over the horizon and into the new blackness of night. Legolas noted the concealment of the forest and a scent of burning firewood. He concluded that the dwellers must have a source of water, thus a stream must be what the trickling sound he heard awhile back must have been. Not only was the horse's hooves, but Legolas's feet, as well, were bruised with endless searching only to find blank areas of forest, hidden by sunlight and aromas of thick, damp, plant and animal life. 

And he always bore a hidden fear of Mirkwood's Spiders, descendents of Shelob. The very instant he pictured long, hairy legs of the blood-coated creatures nagging at their monstrous webs, catching pray and digging into their skin, he shivered. Indeed, he shuddered instantly. Next, he pictured, himself turning far from the forest, and into some unknown realm, cursed by fiends such as those. He pictured his reaction as his pale body was wrapped in hideous webs of sticky silk, yelping until his voice was cut from screaming, breathing.

A radiant colour of phobia covered his once serene mind. Next, Legolas's thoughts were vividly focused on the cottage and a place for the night. Cautiously, he knocked the door, the fear of spiders drowning in his subconscious.

It was an old woman who answered. The elf's first impression was that she was an old hag, damned here in exile for sorcery. She wickedly grinned, at first look upon Legolas, "Eh? Prince of Mirkwood! How do you?" 

"Very well, my lady, however I am at quite a dilemma. I seem to have lost myself in the darkness of the coming dusk and I suspect I shall not find my way," He paused and looked at her, as if she was an old bitch puppy, eyes full of awful shrewdness, "Could I request a stay for the night?"

Her eyes grinned sardonically, but it seemed that the old woman had now realized that he was majesty, "Very well, Prince. I suspect I could find you a room. Come in, please, and make yourself comfortable. I do hope that these awful woods had not frightened you."

"I do confess, I have nowhere for my noble stallion to go," Legolas asked, still aware that he was in the presence of a sly woman. And she said: "Ah, that does arise a problem. Do you mind, sire, if we restrict him to the tightness of a rope?"

"I suppose that will do, for there is no place else," He said.

The woman held the door open for the Legolas, "Indeed, it will." She spoke with delicate harshness and he was fully on heed. He stepped inside the warm cottage, although the warmth did not effect him, the elf just felt it lingering upon the air. The cottage was a bit dusty for his own tastes, yet it was kept organized. There were small, close, rooms filled with many objects; some of elves, dwarves, and men creation, embroidered with fine jewels and mysterious things to the eye.

A calm breeze from the open window singled the coming of dusk. The early stars, hardly visible, appeared to Legolas's eyes alone. He squinted faintly, letting the breeze flutter about the room, creating an aroma of freshness. The woman, who went by the name of Glaradith, escorted the elf farther into the depths of her hearth.

A hasty fire, dancing as a battle; fierce and unvigilant, guarded the main room, encircled with many rugs and ancient tapestry of the elves. It was surprisingly comforting. Legolas's eyes searched for more proof that this strange hag was no sorceress damned here in exile, as he once pondered.

"What, my lady, shall I call you?" He asked with a dulcet voice as silver threads breaking at a cackle of the dancing flames. The old woman turned to him, eyes figuring what to make of the prince; "You can call me Glaradith if you must. The terms madam, my lady or any other nonsense shall not apply to me."

Legolas nodded in understanding, reasoning Glaradith's behavior. _Her personality is, I daresay, fierce. I would surely be surprised not if she was indeed a sorceress. She speaks with wisdom, but hatred, like fire. _His glance was turned to the flames as he found his thought fitting. Glaradith spoke: "My apprentice shall arrive shortly to remove your dirty clothing and give you warm wine to drink."

"Thank you, Glaradith, and many times more for allowing me to share your cottage on such a foul night," The hag did not speak but merely twisted her face as if he was too kind, and merry, then left to find rope for his stallion.

Legolas had a great hunger for something, like stag meat. He wondered, with no greed, if they would provide any food. _When shall that apprentice arrive? I am certainly needy of rest. _The elf questioned, yet only to himself. He felt uneasy of his night at this cottage, as if Glaradith would cast a fetid and dirty spell upon him in his sleep.

He sat down in a leather chair, shaped in a gratifying way, perhaps stuffed with peacock feather or whatnot. Suddenly, a shadow came from the right room, the kitchen. The darkness was beginning to dwell on the wooden floors of the cottage like shadows.

A woman, with a cloth over her head and wearing horribly dirty clothes, stepped into the room. She was carrying a goblet of warm wine for Legolas. Her steps were uneasy when in the presence of the Prince of Mirkwood. 

The tray moved slightly, causing tiny splashes of wine to hit the outer rims. Legolas turned towards her and spoke: "Thank you, madam." She simply responded in a voice of hidden dark richness, "My lord, be in no thanks to a mere servant as I. Do you request anything else, sire?"

"I confess, I do. My tunic is damp and unclean since my departure from the castle. And my stomach is craving of stag meat, if you could, of course, supply it. I do not wish to trouble you, however." The elf spoke. The young woman met his eyes and he could see that her face was round and dirty, and her eyes were darkly intense, alike her words.

She bowed, slightly, and returned to the kitchen to find something edible for the guest.

~*~

The deep lights, which staggered across the wooden floor, caught his eye. Legolas examined them carefully, as if laboring a secret interest. The fire was very comforting, however the warmth meant nothing to an elf. He next pondered the upcoming war and sighed. _So much change will arrive, as I should bare it with much difficulty. I do, indeed, wonder how this will effect Mirkwood, and myself._

Legolas sighed, gently, and remembered where he was. He was in a cottage, far from his castle, and consolation. The elf was vaguely worried by Glaradith and questioned her apprentice. She seemed chaste, innocent, and wise, something considered highly in the wed of a man, or elf. However, she was a simple apprentice to a puppy bitch, nothing more. 

Next, he thought about the old woman, with much fear, in fact, although he did not show it. Legolas thought of her as he did the awful spiders of the haunted lands. An aversion crossed his pondering mind as he imagined a spell of disgusting spider webs consuming his each breath until he lay slain by silk, yet deadly, webs. Legolas did not trust the old woman, even in the smallest measurements of time, since his stay.

"Eh? You are still awake, my prince?" he turned to find Glaradith, "Well, you best be getting to sleep, for I suspect you shall be leaving after midday." Her ill-tempered face wrinkled up and she next limped up the staircase, echoing something: "Radais shall show you to your bed."

Legolas took the woman harshly and sneered. He then figured that he was feeling a bit weary and decided to find her apprentice, Radais. 

She sat in a small room and continued to weave, fingers entwining with the string. The elf took a further glance and saw the quilt was nearly plenary, a few snags and mishaps. "Glaradith told me that you would escort me to my bed."

"Yes my lord. Please, follow me," Radais turned from her tedious weaving and to Legolas. She looked at him with longing, yet purity, yet punished herself in thought for thinking of someone that she could never have in such a disrespectful manner. Radais closed her eyes and walked up the old stairs, which seemed to clink and shake with every breath. The elf was quite afraid it would collapse at any moment.

And he followed her through a narrow corridor, which was filled with bright flames of candelabras. He saw three doors, two to the left and one single to the right. Legolas suspected that each woman dwelled in their own room, which remained a guestroom. He followed her into a room, small yet filled with many tidbits and delicate items from Arda. The scent was as if the room was dipped in cinnamon, and caught his attention instantly.

There was a single window, which consisted of a flap that was hitting against the stone walls hastily, and obnoxiously. A heavy wind blew into the idle cracks and onto his own elven body. He shivered at the ghastliness of the room. He now noticed that the apprentice was carrying a candle herself, which provided a bit more warmth.

"I suspect you will sleep well, my lord. You may call upon me if you like, to ask of any needs," Radais turned and walked from the room, compassion obvious, "Goodnight, Prince." And she felt a deep crevice burn inside her limbs, feeling, for the first time, desire.

He turned his stern eyes upon the closing door, next examining the room. Legolas felt it less haunting once the candles were fully lit, and decorating the chamber with solace. He mouthed a 'Goodnight' to the fleeing apprentice. 

Legolas slept uneasily, ideas of witches and horrid magic spells cast upon him, dwelling in his black mind. Next, he pictured the apprentice, and sincerely hoped she did not resemble Glaradith and her gorgon ways. Although he did not know the old woman greatly, he did fear her.

Another A/N: I will have more posted very soon so keep checking back and please, tell me what you think of this so far. ^__^


	2. The Fall of Legolas

A/N: Okay, I guess I need to make this clear: This fic is not a result of a teenager's hormones or anything to that extent! I am merely writing this as practice, and also, because I wanted my go at writing a L/OC romance. Actually, Legolas is my least favourite member of the Fellowship (don't flame.. I'm already a pyro as it is) and I, too, is sickened by the lack of quality written Legolas romances. Yeah, one may think that because I am thirteen and writing a Legolas romance, that I am driven by my own fantasies. I was wanted to make that clear. Enjoy! 

"Breakfast is now or never, Prince!" Glaradith wickedly yelled from the kitchen. The elf stirred awake, bright rays from the sun casting unto the wooden floor and drifting over his bed. His eyes blinked once, then twice and he thus stretched.

His head hurt, however, Legolas found it to his benefit (and life) that he was under no ill and miserable spells of Glaradith. _I do ponder if she is truly a witch. _The elf thought. His mind soon drifted into a vacancy and suddenly; he turned starved for breakfast. 

Radais watched carefully, but discreetly, as the elf walked from the staircase. Her eyes were fixed upon his slender and graceful movements, mesmerized by his splendor so that she wished she could watch him move all day. She was a wise elf and realized that he would not do the same to her. Radais's face stirred with sorrow. The apprentice carefully poured a goblet of warm milk for the prince as Glaradith served the hot biscuits and butter.

Legolas was in a blissful state, the cozy cottage stripping his thoughts of war and spiders. He buttered his biscuits with a knife and ate politely, making idle chat among the woman and elf.

"This are most wonderful biscuits, my la-!" Glaradith glared at the elf angrily, as if she were about to punish him wickedly with a spell, "Remember prince, remember to forgot not these petty things for one day they could get you killed." Her words shook faintly, haunting Legolas coldly so that his very spine was chilled. _Was this some prophecy, or is this woman babbling on about some nonsense? _He reminded of himself that he should seldom trust her. _However, I very well know that there are no witches in Arda.._

However, something nagged at his breath. She may be right.

Radais cut the silence, "Would you like another helping, sire?" Her voice was calm and rich, despite her outer appearance. He replied: "Nay, my lady, I do feel very full." The eyes of Radais were a strong, yet murky, colour of brown. Legolas handed his plate to the apprentice and watched her again. She was nothing special, no emerald engraved in stone or beautiful elf princess. However, the apprentice held a distinction; she was helpful and hard working. Yet, that was it, for it was the magical surroundings that made Radais even the least bit attractive, not the actual elf herself.

His thought drifted into a blackness that slowly consumed his breath. Legolas's breathing grew intensely heavy as he attempted to control his musings. And Glaradith glared at this as her apprentice continued to wash the plates. Her wicked old eyes of a dead blue caught his own as the elf prince inhaled deeply. He shivered at the look of the woman.

"Radais, please dear, could you fetch Legolas's belongings?" Glaradith's personality had drastically changed as if he was a heathen at his own stay. Legolas felt an uneasy wind blow in from the window. Now, upon feeling the breeze, his mind stirred among the window. He noted that the sun was merely past the horizon, which reflected a golden flicker, and it seemed no clouds drifted by the pure sky which held his attention for far too long.

Upon seeing the apprentice walk slowly down the steps, carrying his riding bag (which was filled with blankets and such for his horse, an extra water-holder, and some other necessities), his attention turned. Radais set the bag towards the entrance as the elf prince carefully finished his milk, hoping not to offend the woman by staying past due.

Glaradith snarled, faintly, as her brood eyes stared at the high elf, nearly demanding that he leave. He felt his skin turn an awful cold, picked up his napkin and said, attempting to sound gratifying: "Thank you, Glaradith, for allowing me to stay at your humble cottage. If you are ever in need of a favour, please, by all means, tell me."

"Oh no, Prince, you do not need to thank me!" She devishly grinned, as if she meant exactly the opposite. A sardonic sparkle lingered in her dull eyes. Radais held the door open for the fleeing elf, watching carefully for any sign that he desired her. _Nothing. But by the Valar, I knew it would not be anything else. _She sighed all too slightly. _He desires a beautiful princess of Lorien, who can give him sons and be kind and gentle. And he feasibly wants a stupid maiden, so that he can breed her a countless amount of times, and she would not mind._

Radais carefully studied the elf's stern face. _Yet, _she pondered, _he suggests otherwise. _Legolas turned to her and they met glances. _I can see it in his eyes, he is different. _She whereupon bowed her head in silence, and in respect foremost. 

The old woman turned towards the departing prince. Her eyes grinned devishly, but wisely, and she could, without a doubt, tell the tortured feelings that lay within Radais. Glaradith closed her listless eyes of blue, pondering many things. As the elf prince fled the cottage, the apprentice stared from the window with a craving. However, it was quite innocent, a mere liking, and nothing lewd. Legolas tied the large pouch to his stallion and mounted gracefully. Radais pictured him handsomer than ever.

As the old door shut with a 'whack', Legolas was well on his way towards his father's fortress. The dirt path was quite visible, now that it was darkness not. His eyes were fixed on the direction of North, expecting to arrive before midday.

~*~

Legolas had traveled far upon horseback. It did seem as if he would arrive at the barracks in a matter of minutes. He gave no more thought to Glaradith and her apprentice, Radais until later. As for now, he was more concerned on what hid behind the bush.

_Crack!_

The elf instantaneously turned to the large shrubs. Small, fertile, emerald hills embroidered the forest, raising and falling. His stallions strode farther towards the sound, as commanded. Legolas's eyes surveyed the area, and to his dismay, there was something black upon the array of leaves.

His heart jumped and chilled his spine. Suddenly, the stallion reared up frantically then pounded on the earth below it's hooves, causing harsh disturbances. In a moment's notice, Legolas had retrieved his bow and arrows and was hastily firing at the shrubs. He ordered his horse to back far away, for a bow and arrow would have no use from anything but far away.

_Crack! Sush! _

The bush shook violently until another sound rumbled throughout the forest, a loud, shrieking sound that pierced his skin. Abruptly, over ten ill creatures appeared before Legolas. Their eyes glared at him wickedly as they leaped foreword, clinging to the stallion's hooves.

And some carried spears and charged. The elf hurried his horse, in sheer panic. He turned towards the orc raid and fired agilely, each barb cutting into the foul creatures' flesh, ripping and tearing until they were no more. With a blaring shriek, the stallion galloped faster. Legolas clung to his bow tightly, so that his sweat ran down and stained the wood.

He could see it! In his dismal escape, his eyes caught attention of his father's fortress! The elf kicked the beast harder, more determined. And he called out; "It is I, Prince Legolas. Pante-ando!" Wild orcs were plunging closer as they swung from the trees and vines that bound them. Legolas cried, once more: "Pante-ando!"

A clanking sound rode over the grassy hills as the fortified gate was opened. The elven fortress was now aware of the orc raid and sent longbow-bearing soldiers to attack from the sentry towers. Legolas rode fiercely, his horse beating against the fair earth in fury, each step closer to the fortress, _Taurelond, _which meant Forest Haven. 

With a fiendish howl, an orc was slain. Another fife barbs were fired from the two watchtower slits. A clear blackness fell into place as Legolas chose panic as a direction. He kicked his horse intensely, while attempting to fire as well. Without warning, an orc leaped from a tree branch and onto Legolas. The elf felt a foul stench upon his breath and wheezed harshly. Another howl came as the orc struggled to harm Legolas by scratching and pulling him from his horse.

Legolas panicked, and threw the orc from his pale body. A long streak of red fell onto his pure horse and then onto the still earth. He let out a painful wail as he felt nails digging into his tunic and bare skin. The pain gripped his thoughts and twisted them so he did not feel anything but the tearing of his flesh. Next, he knew nothing but the wet grass against his chin and soon was bound by darkness. 

"The Prince is slain! The Prince lies slain!" The elves firing from the sentry tower called. Their voices were utterly amazed and overwhelmed by the attack. It was then they truly realized the dimness of the situation. They had failed; they had failed their King and his heir. However, was there anything more they could have done? 

As the final orc fell onto the cold grass, the elves of the towers ran forth to claim his death. Legolas's body was covered in severe scars running all over his arms like serpents. Blood fell onto the ground from the wounds in his waist. _I regret to confess, thought it is true; orqu claws are certainly harmful. _One elf thought. _He may not have but a mere chance. _

"Fallaner! Quickly, come!" An elf yelped. Tiny bugs chirped throughout the forest, creating a somewhat nervous atmosphere. Hastily, the healer ran forth and to the body of Legolas. He was clad in a long, white robe, and carried on his waist a pouch of remedies like herbs. His stern face was upon the elf's body, looking over it for a sense of how bad the wounds were. And indeed, they were bad. 

The elf called, "Bring him to Taurelond! Make haste! Make haste!" 

And quickly, the elves brought up their hands and lifted the body of Legolas. He was carried a few paces before a guard asked, "Fallaner, will the Prince remain alive?" The Fallaner replied, "I am sorry, but there is no way of telling at the moment. However, it looks grave."

The elf bowed his head in respect, as the shadows of Mirkwood became more evident, and their hearts became heavier.

Please review. Give me constructive criticism, I beg of it. I want to get better, which is how I improved from my first fic. ::blushes:: Okay, well I'll leave you poor folks alone now.


	3. Giving Into Distractions

A/N: Yay! Another chappy done! I'm suspecting this fic will run into about eight chapters of about 2,000 words each chapter. Plot twist coming up..::evil smile:: And Faery827- Hillbilly elves!

Radais steadied her fingers. The sting of a burning green sifted between her fingers as she constantly struggled to even out the tedious cloth. She thought about their guest, and hated herself for it. Even the thought of him ever loving her was grim, and Radais knew it, she saw it. 

The apprentice stopped from the dragging weaving session, yet only for a moment. She closed her murky brown eyes and concentrated deeply on not thinking about him. Her thoughts were crowded, yet bleak, a pure tunnel of confusion concerning many things. 

Suddenly, Radais turned to see the old woman. "How is the weaving coming? I suspect you shall be done soon, that is, of course, if you are not troubling yourself with fantasies about that bastard Prince." Her voice was dark and weary, however, it shown of pity. Glaradith stepped closer to her apprentice. Radais closed her eyes, as if they were her unbound souls and the woman could see right into them. The elf continued to weave, attempting to show not of her desire, but her determination.

"I am sorry, Glaradith, but you are false-" Radais replied in a rich voice. Her fingers were grossly sore from the tedious weaving. Glaradith balanced herself and cried: "How you dare! I am an old diviner and I know far more than you will ever, the subject that you are immortal still does change that not!" Her lips pressed together curtly.

"As a Diviner, I have seen many things in my dreams, in horrid reminisces of what Arda is drawing to. I have seen many things, although some have been false," her pride was toiled with, however the woman was honest, "I know your past, child, and I know how your parents fostered you with me. You are reared as my apprentice, Radais.

"Prince Legolas, on the other hand, can trace his history far back. He and you have boundaries you must bestow not and that means that you shall never wed him. Thus, stop troubling yourself with petty fantasies. I can swear I saw something better for you, not a bastard prince who will lead Mirkwood into flames!" Radais understood everything and dropped her head in complete torture. The old woman shown a hint of love in her grim eyes, love for only Radais and her wellbeing. Her eyes focused on the elf and sorrow overcame her. _O the torment she knows. _

Radais knew that Glaradith did favour neither the prince, nor the king. However, mostly she did not trust them.

~*~

The clearing made the sun and it's stalwart rays quite visionary. They were they are they were indeed bright. It was not until midday did Radais finally finished her tiresome weaving. The outcome was a bit short of perfect, snags and faltering stitches were abroad, yet, she had eternity to fix it.

"Glaradith, I am finished. Please, come have a look!" Her smile broadened for she was quite proud of her plenary quilt. Glaradith slowly walked in, hunched on the support of a large stick. Radais lied her eyes on the old woman, seeing her limping body and weakened muscles. However, it was determination that led her where she desired to go. _She is without fail, getting old. And she is not immortal, as I, so where shall I go when she joins the ranks of the dead? _

Her careful, apathetic blue eyes deemed the fabric. Glaradith's old, pale as white, hand touched it faintly, then with a surge, she spoke: "Well, it is certainly not worthy of my praise, however it is much finer than your last one. Child, too many snags!" She pointed to the red and green yard that fell upon the blanket caught onto a mess of others.

Radais studied the blanket (and the disembodied strings). She learned to take disappointments and lost hopes easily, then keep trying with no fault. It was her way, she had been constantly trained to do such tasks as these for the grimness of both Mirkwood, and Middle Earth gave her a reason to.

"Glaradith, would you have any care if I should go outside and pick some flowers for the table vase?" Glaradith looked upon the far from perfect stitches once more, then laid it on a wooden desk. Her words were darker, "Child, you do know of the orc raids. They are constantly about the roads and I have a great fear that they shall come upon you."

Radais interrupted her not; it was another skill learned: _Do not ask questions to one higher than thy self, unless asked upon. _She steadied her shifting glances. _Thou shall beg not. _Another teaching was remembered. Radais scolded herself for thinking otherwise. Her swift thought was forgotten as Glaradith continued again.

"However, if you stay close to the cottage and do not stray past the old willow tree, I imagine you shall remain safe," A hidden love for the young elf was shone in complete surprise. Glaradith's eyes had a sudden glint to them, that she would present to no other. Her hand steadied as Radais managed a quick grin, which she rarely presented, and gathered her basket and scarf.

The woods were dark, as standard. The clearing that had presented much light was farther back from the young elf as she hurried along to a happy bog south of the cottage. A faint, yet eerie, chant of crickets flooded through the air and the shrill noise broke the silence. 

Radais turned to hear something. Her eyes wandered to an old tree, faint at the bark and ill and the roots. It was surely dying. Instead of going where bided, the apprentice strayed from the lone, dirt path and into the forest deeper north. _Something is there, and if it should take me past my position, then so let it be. _Her intense eyes followed the blackened sight.

The apprentice's feet began to hurry as a tidal wave of panic ran over her. Radais knew that nothing would harm her unless she harmed it foremost..well, unless it were a raid of orcs. She shivered at the thought of terrible, awful orcs of horrid, piercing eyes and black flesh and blood running after her. Radais's sight betrayed her as she saw herself running swiftly through the forest and with limited light. The orcs sped up, catching every whiff of turn she made.

_Seeth! _And she saw herself collapse upon an old tree with a long spear in her back and into her front. The elf examined her hands, which were now covered in her own crimson trail. Radais screamed in uttermost pain like a sharp raven's call. Her flesh lay pierced and stuck heavily unto the wooden barb as she called for Glaradith, and Legolas. 

Radais clutched to a tree, almost cowardly. However, even the king himself would feel a need to breathe upon the moment of fright. What she saw before her, it chilled her spine and bone. Radais suddenly turned lifeless as she saw a slain orc skull before her. Its eyes were looking strait at her with all the hate in the world. They were torpid, yet fierce, and odious. And its skin and blood was scattered on the tree and mossy grounds. Although her mind forbade it, Radais looked upon its ugly head once more. She could see the veins and arteries and pierced flesh either bleeding or gone. 

Something else she noted. The apprentice only strayed farther to see the body. As wind in a storm, she called madly and shrieked in ill pain and ran home. _They had attacked the prince! They had attacked the prince! _Radais could pass as an educated woman, although she knew little writing or simple logic, but her cleverness was about. She saw hoof prints nearby in a startled run like mad. And she saw elf blood, which was not dirty and unclean. _How long had the slaughter taken place? _The elf turned her head back, as she ran, and saw that for miles the trees and limbs were disturbed. _They attacked the prince!_

~*~

Legolas was carried, quite swiftly and not gently, towards the fortress. The trumpets blew, in an earsplitting rang that was not of the actual trumpets, but the wounded, and nearly dead, prince. He lay upon a taste of blood tingling from his lesions. Legolas wickedly coughed and more crimson puddles formed around his lips and drooled onto the ground. 

"He is waking! The prince is waking!" Yelled in elf, nearly froze in a trance of listless puddles of both confusion and prospect. The Fallaner quickly hushed him and cried: "We must, immediately, induce him onto a bed! You there!" His carefully watchful eyes looked onto a young elf, "Fetch me a clean basin and fill it with water from that stream."

"And you there! Make haste now, and inform Nordir, the leader of the camp, of this dilemma. Tell him, also, to make ready a bed and clean bedding," his attention turned back to the wounded elf. The Fallaner kissed his forehead and continued to direct the elves about, all in a constant frenzy to save Legolas from the ranks of the dead.

Legolas opened his eyes, faintly and saw the broad excitement. He felt a stinging sensation in his upper thigh and then it nagged his entire body, stretching his every breath, harsh and uneasy, to the limit. The elf felt the rush of blood from his mouth and attempted to spit it out. A vague and restless shade of ebony came across the wounded prince as he thought of nothing but help. His clear eyes caught one last look at the site before his conscious fell into oblivion. 

The Fallaner pulled at the tent flap madly, yanking on the heavily woven yarn. His stern face looked upon the elves that were at his aid and then, crossly, he glanced at the bed. Legolas's body was placed upon it as, within a moment's notice, was stained in red. 

An elf, no more than Legolas's age, ran swiftly with the basin of water. Some spilled and dotted the rusty earth. The Fallaner gripped to it harshly, whereupon instructed that the elf fetch him a type of specific lembas and washing cloths. His long fingers moved gracefully, as if he was totally unconscious and aided by nothing more that the Valar themselves. 

Quickly, he held a goblet of healing tea to Legolas's lips and ordered he sip. Although the elf lay wounded and unable to do much, his lip did not refuse the offer. Quietly, but with a burning rush, the last of the tea was swallowed and the healer cleaned his wounds, abruptly.

And others watched, unsure whether to be merry that the prince was still alive or dreaded that he may only stay that way for little time. Their prudent eyes watched in awe as the healer worked, carefully taking heed of every scrape and gash on his fair skin. 

As night fell, sluggishly and with much doubt, the Fallaner carefully dropped his head. A burning candle, actually, many candles, lit the heavily guarded tent. Many elves, who had been watching, fled to do other things, hopes resting upon the healer alone.

Nordir, a very comely elf with intense eyes spilled with blues and greens, stepped into the tent. His voice was deep and simple, "Fallaner, shall I send word that the prince is dead?" He spoke gravely, and in sorrow, The Fallaner replied, "Perhaps this would be wise, however, I do not doubt that he could, very well, remain alive."

Th leader managed a quick glance at the wounded elf as if he had realized something quite direly, "I shall not send word, healer," he looked directly into The Fallaner's aged, yet clever eyes, "for I honestly know that the son of the High Thranduil will not, cannot, fall into this darkness." He fixed his eyes upon the prince and kissed his forehead, leaving only the calm of the night to sooth Legolas now.

Just you know. Click dat lil buttony thing..::nudges poor reader:: Just..I mean..er..^_^;;


	4. Return to the Castle

A/N: Taste the rainbow. Eat crayons.

It was a deadly night, thus far. A blazing wind, in which stretched upon the valleys and steep hills of the forest, drifted into the tent by the tent flap. Although the prince was still in quite a state of either fright or illness (or possibly both) he felt this horrid swiftness and snuggled closer to the blankets. They were all stained in a dark and horrid reminder of the impasse. It smelled of a certain thickness and wielded the scent of blood. 

Legolas strained to regain consciousness in hopes that his kinsman would see and surely give both hope to himself and his comrades. His eyes opened weakly, revealing that it was a dark and sluggish night. However, it was fresh unlike the tent.

The prince managed to moan something. Nordir was nowhere to be found. Legolas attempted to chatter and cry for someone to aid him. Distant sounds came from his lips, escaping only when he conserved such energy to do so. Nonetheless, he was alive.

"Prince! The Prince has awakened!" Nordir raced into the tent and to his utter awe, Legolas could sit up. He touched his forehead gently and called for The Fallaner to come, and quickly. And he did come, rapidly and with much hope. Each stride was swifter than the last, revealing the healer's blissful attitude. _I had saved the prince! It was I who cared for him this long night and my deed has finally been requited!_

A bit arrogantly, the healer thought his self. However, it may, indeed, be true that it was he who saved the heir. The Fallaner stepped inside the pavilion, uneasiness about his step now. His eyes were fixed on Legolas, watching his eyes blink hastily and lips press together wearily, "Child, O Elbereth! He is awake, and well!"

"I would not say things as such so quickly-" An elf carefully said. However, with a brisk change in voice, the healer interrupted, "Shush!" The Fallaner spoke quietly with Nordir, discussing plans for Legolas and preparations for war. 

The prince lay awake, hushed gently by the coming elf soldiers, all bearing quivers full of arrows. He thought about many things and quarreled amongst them, demanding he be left alone. Legolas was indeed well again. A brilliant moon shone through the tent opening. 

"I know that you are still quite faint, Lord, but Nordir has many things he requests to inform you of," The Fallaner kissed Legolas's brow weakly and turned from the tent so the leader could come in. He stood with a stern twinkle upon his face and a strong determination.

The prince steadied himself on the bed, which now smelled of old blood and a dull odor. He wished not to be bothered with war talk, however, he put his kingdom before his own sanity, "Lord, I have vital news to request you of my listening."

"Do, Nordic, inform me. Is it concerning the orc raids?" Nordic pressed his lips together curtly and said: "It is of that and much more."

"A night ago, a messenger of Elrond spoke to me of many things. It was not Glorfindel for he would not send his dearest friend on these haunted roads now. And he spoke to me of many things. Do not ask many questions, Lord, as I was only informed. Thranduil and the Lesser King of Marshlond, a bog-like land south of Mirkwood, has offered your father, and kingdom an offer.

"Because of the trade routes, taken, obviously, by those horrid orcs, trade carts and caravans have not been able to sent exports to neighboring kingdoms, nor bring anything in. We are at a loss, prince, for we have no metal from the dwarves to make our chain mail. And we have no mithril from Rivendell to protect or soldiers. Many foods have also been sacrificed because of the roads." Legolas cried: "Please do not bother me with such things! I am ill as it is, friend!" 

Nordic grew angry, "You are the Prince of Mirkwood, Lord, and you must always hold your silence in the matter of your father, no matter what rank you are. Nothing is higher than your own kin!" The prince took this as an immediate whipping, mentally only, of course. He was punished and he did, indeed, learn to hold his silence in the presence of his father's word. And he, too, learned that the kingdom came before his own welfare. All in the making of a King.

"Now, in the matter of trade. If an alliance can be made with the Lesser King of Marshlond, Urendor, then we may go through the unblocked roads into their kingdom and forge a new trade route. If this alliance does not succeed, we will have little armor and food." Nordir continued.

"He has proposed that his daughter, Amathien, joins you in marriage, as an alliance. It will do good for both yourself and Mirkwood, my lord," Legolas's mind was stranded in an empty pool of blackness and confusion. He longed for a wife, yet, so soon? The prince was still very young, and being elves were immortal, he had many years to live without a spouse.

Nordic paused and looked at the sorrowful elf, who was both bewildered and in awe, "I know this burden is heavy for you, prince, yet it will promote trade to Mirkwood. I have heard many things of the Mistress Amathien. She is obedient, and very pretty as well." He commented. _Pretty? What should I care if the Lady is pretty? _Legolas thought harshly, without even a slight open mind. _However, it is best for my kingdom. And I am their heir; I must do as bid. _

He calmly sipped the healing tea The Fallaner had blended. Nordir carefully laid his hand upon the prince's shoulder and awaited a fury of curses and insults. Nothing occurred for a reasonable amount of time, and the leader found this very pleasing.

Legolas switched positions and fell against the soft pillow, woven in silk and stuffed with bird feathers. He felt uneasily bound and curious, surprisingly. The elf felt the same cold, and quite chilling, breeze flutter into the room, permitted by the open flaps. 

"We will ride to your father's castle in two nights, Lord. You shall most likely be rested in the time sanctioned," With that, Nordir, fair and noble, cast himself into the open fortress. The walls were fortified, some with strong wood, other with lasting stone. There were two sentry towers, both at the entrance.

The prince, thereupon, let his thoughts drift into a listless pool of oblivion, as he knew nothing more until the sweet smell of morning awoke him. 

~*~

For the two days that Legolas lay in care of The Fallaner, the camp was quite. No news of such things as war or trade routes had been told or discussed. Everything within those days seemed like a broad stretch of blah and idle moments for the prince. He occasionally strayed from the tent, both Fallaner and Nordir watching very carefully. The elf did not remember much, only that he was wounded and at his father's fortress. Everything else seemed rather raw and forgetful.

On the morning that the prince was to ride forth to the castle at Mirkwood, an early mist came about near dawn. It reflected off the nearby stream and nestled loosely within the closed forest mosses and plants. 

It was the aroma of fresh cinnamon that awoke Legolas. Indeed, it was a strange scent to hover over a battle fortress! However, it was there and for some odd reason, the elf smelt it thoroughly. Legolas rose from the comfortable, yet old and malodorous, bed and sniffed the air. _Cinnamon. _The scent wavered about his bed, and instead of smelling rotting blood, he smelled cinnamon! 

After he had bathed and dressed himself, the elves-at-arm took full account of the prince. Nordir had wished them all a fair good-bye and when the pink still touched the blue sky, the party left for the castle. 

It was a tedious journey for Legolas. He remembered very little, and even had trouble staying upon his stallion. The elves around him, all clad in the remaining armor, looked stern. Two of the ten were carrying the prince's banner. It was a golden flag, embroidered with purple lining. The symbol was depicting (the) Tel'Quessir.

And certainly, it was a lonely trip for the elf. That was the worse fate he would face along the tiresome ride home. He felt dependant and cold, even when the humidity sank into the lower part of the forest. A faint ballad of some unknown song played throughout the elf's mind. It was actually very soothing. 

His mind blackened as he saw the castle. Legolas pondered on his many thoughts from the journey. _I dare say, what a dreary place this has gotten. _The prince randomly thought. His stallion stepped with a light foot, imprinting the fragile mark upon the mossy ground.

As the gates were pulled open, the stalwart aria of the trumpets filled the air. Legolas smiled, faintly, and continued on his horse. The lights he could see from the slits in the castle were always lit. It welcomed him less than the trumpets and calling of his name however.

The nobles that were walking upon the courtyard of the castle waved and greeted him merrily, as if the forest and tiding of war meant nothing. Despite the reason, Legolas knew they were real and even as the aloof elf he was, he was dearly frightened. 

His escorts followed him until the king's men were signaling at the entrance. Legolas proceeded foreword, dampness of the forest clenching his every breath. It was then he thought of Glaradith and Radais. _I do indeed wonder what they are up to. Glaradith is probably up to that foul sorcery again. _He smiled curtly, and rather sardonically.

"Welcome Lord! Please, the escorts will take your stallion to the regal stables north of here. Will not you follow us into the castle? King Thranduil has bid us to fetch you the moment you arriving in the courtyard," An elf said. He was wearing impressive robes, which suggested he was among the king's favorites. Legolas followed him, weakly, through the corridors of the sublime haven. His every step held sluggishness; however, he made sure he did not show it.

As soon as the royal guards presented him to Thranduil, a thick warmth opened up. He was not in the murky, cold and distant forests- or in an accursed cottage, but at home. And he liked it. 

The king stepped foreword, adorned in high robes and jewels of the dwarves, "Son! I thought of you as a victim of the raids. O praise Manwe for this honor!" He did not make a step, once more, but instead raised his arms slightly as if he was dearly surprised.

"Indeed, father. I shall tell you about my travels later, however, please tell me why you bid your guards to fetch me immediately. My feet grow weary, despite my light step, and my heart grows heavy because of the cognizance on war." Legolas found a comfortable chair to rest in, and could see the fires in the courtyard burning brilliantly, for in Mirkwood, light is vital.

Night came darkly, or perhaps it was just the gloominess of the forest, no one could tell. Legolas had strayed not. He secluded himself to staying within his father's study, collecting his thoughts as Thranduil explained more.

By early twilight, the intuition of the orc raids and their relevance to Sauron's new threat were explained, as were many other things. However, Legolas concentrated and reflected most on the alliance with Urendor, Lesser King of Marshlond, and the new caveat of orc regions to the south.

King Thranduil spoke harshly, "I am sorry, my son, however the lady of Marshlond is arriving tomorrow. To my benefit, I shall hold off any ceremony until we get word from Elrond on the orc raids to the south. If they do attack, soon and we find someway to slay them- I suppose there will be no use for a uniting, however.."

His words were grave. Legolas knew now that it was not a faint dream, filled with many happenings of such he could not remember, but a true reality. And it frightened him in a distant way he could only explain in a use of colours revolving in his head.

They prattled, importantly, for another few hours. However, Legolas got quite weary and the King bid him a good sleep. Tomorrow he would receive word of war and meet the pawn in an alliance and truthfully, he was both disappointed and anxious. 

It's only a click away! Constructive criticisms is greatly appreciated!


	5. Enter Amathien

A/N: I'm feeling paranoid. Happy reading.

The prince slept uneasily, which seemed ordinary being that his mind was blank and listless since the encounter with Glaradith. He shuddered restlessly throughout the night, turning wildly and clenching the covers as a small babe would. Legolas felt utterly lost and rather frightened at the days in which he would encounter.

And the sky rumbled with listless hums and growls, like hearty moans. However, the weather showed no sign of rain. No clouds rolled in from the west, and even distant mists were quite gone. Legolas steadied himself in the night by strayed his room, wandering blankly through the castle corridors, loosing himself in a deep haze.

When morning finally came, abruptly and clear, Legolas had wakened to the harsh reality of his kinsman's voice. It was a hollow and grim way to start his day, and, without a doubt, he could expect no less. He was dressed, curtly, by the handmaids, and sent immediately the lonely courtyard, without a dab of neither honey and bread nor wine.'

King Thranduil had generously waited by the sluice of the lower courtyard, bound by his strong alliance to be made. The day was slightly warm, a break from the coldness of early spring, however, being elves, they noticed (or cared) little about petty things like temperature. 

Soon, a bit past early dawn, Legolas heard the pulling of rickety, old wheels sink into the forest and then into his own ears. His stomach was unusually solicitous and his eyes wandered stray as if he sheltered a hidden fear.

Without anything but notice, the carriage, black yet embroidered with royal cloth, appeared thickly in the damp forest. The two horses, broad, brown horses, pulled the carriage tediously until the gate swung open with a 'whack!' and it came to a deliberate stop.

As the trumpets blasted their glorious tune of Mirkwood, Legolas could not drift from thinking of Glaradith and Radais, the mysterious pair he had met in the forest. As the horses stomped madly and the door was opened, the prince's attention was swiftly turned.

"Ah, King Urendor! I bid you a grand welcome to Mirkwood!" Thranduil stepped foreword, playing a merry grin upon his face. The king was a stout fellow, but nonetheless tall, marked by battle scars and rich robes of greens. Urendor also possessed a rusty gold shade of hair, marked by no gray whatsoever, a jovial face branded with a touch of pink, and sparkling, cobalt eyes.

He looked happily about the scene. His thoughts were centered on the homage he was payed in this early hour, "Indeed! I am most esteemed to receive trumpets and the audience of your kingdom. As you know, we have traveled far from Marshlond," he daughter stepped from the carriage, "on this accursed not roads and we remain faint. However, in all respect, we are happy to have traveled to such a place as this!" King Urendor laughed good-naturedly as Thranduil approached him. The crowds wandered off, fleeing the scene as it held their attention no more. 

The elf did not step closer, but instead strayed towards the carriage, her mind in a confused bliss. Legolas, kindly, approached her, attempting to make a good impression, "It must have been a long journey for one as yourself." He meant not to say that but her overall look, in which was small and fragile, led him to believe she truly was.

Amathien did not speak or attempt to part her lips. The elf stuttered, striving to say something clever. However, she possessed a silence, cowardice and timidity, that held Legolas in silence, each breath afraid to hurt her, by either words or action.

The young elf still held her weak composure, eyeing Legolas oddly, as if she was fearful of the kingdom. Her eyes were a glossy blue that held a shyness and her checks were not slender, alike her father's. However, her body was small and slender, like a doll. Amathien's blonde hair was also a reflection of her frailness. 

The prince thought her pretty indeed. However, he feared he fell in love with her beauty, not her character.

~*~

Each day passed quicker than the last. _These apathetic days go by so quickly, perhaps far too quickly for my taste. _Legolas pondered. His wounds still nagged at his conscious as a painful reminder of his submit, and burned at the touch. The prince grew colder and more distant during the coarse of the next few weeks.

King Thranduil and the new, yet not formal, ally had been always together discussing many things. The war was their first tiding, feeding their wise hunger for more information, lest they could make a bit more tactful strategy. They spent many hours each night talking in the grand study of Thranduil, while the torches outside lay lit for all to follow and be guided by.

It was a tranquil evening, soaked in a pure crimson feeling of colour, did the kings consult. It was also on that same night did a messenger from Rivendell come to their aid, in a dark hour when they discussed of nothing but war.

The night was actually a rainy one, as a harsh wind from the east blew in the trees. Mirkwood and its outlying forests were even more dangerous, whereas many were blinded by the darkness and troubled by the ever-dismayed thought of orcs hiding, waiting. 

And the horse left muddy footprints and its beautiful gray fur was soaked in catharsis rain. It came down hair and made it even more laborious to arrive in the courtyard of Mirkwood safely. The rider pulled at the reins, although it kept no saddle, vigorously, attempting to fall not into the muddy darkness.

However, the ride was far from over. A crashing tone of thunder rumbled harshly across the mossy hills. It startled the rider, and he kicked the stallion further, driving him to his every stride faster and faster. Another crash rumbled the ground. It did not help that the wind was causing the rain to fall mercilessly and whip against the messenger.

Lest he grew frightened, which the rider never shown. His coarsely weaved cloak was torn and tattered and his mind sunk into a spiritless oblivion, which held hope not. Yet, he urged the horse foreword, only to encounter the greatest fear of Mirkwood.

With a brilliant dazzle of something like lightening, the rider was fully aware of what hid in Mirkwood. Orcs. And when he thought of this, at that moment, he could see their listless and fierce eyes startle him as nothing else. The light came across the rolling hills and flashed upon the sky once more. 

As sudden as the actual storm, an assault of orcs leaped from their hiding and clung to the rider. They bore horrid spear-like weapons that seemed to be stained with a long, crimson trail. The rider attempted to throw them from his now bruised body, however, found it tedious and horribly difficult. If one were to fall, another would come-hither.

His cloak was ripped off and he seemed to be free from their horrid claws. The rider's wan skin bore several gashes and bled heavily. His lips parted as he moaned in an awful pain and clung to his horse's mane, fingers drenched in blood.

Near the castle, the guards steadied their eyes upon the coming traveler. He was drenched in a mad spill of blood and water. The rider's cloak was gone so they could clearly tell who it was. The gate swung open and the horse walked steadily into the paved courtyard. 

One greeted him in a hasty voice, "Lord Glorfindel! Please, come, you are severely wounded. Why have you strayed so far from Rivendell?" He immediately asked. Glorfindel trembled abruptly and pulled the clawed at, thin material over his arms as a relief, "I was sure Lord Elrond would not send someone he highly values a quest to Mirkwood."

"I am the only one he trusts to deliver a worth-while message from his sire. As the messenger, I request to speak to King Thranduil immediately," Glorfindel stammered. His breaths were glazed with a bitter iciness. The elf walked sluggishly, lacking grace, and moaned often.

The guard looked puzzled. He finally spoke: "Lord Glorfindel, you are faint. Please, the missive shall have to wait. Be amenable, come, there is an open room in the castle." The elf did not retort, for he knew that the message would wait- he was far too weary and apprehensive.

Thus, Glorfindel followed the guard into the heavy rain, which splintered the ground, and into the castle. The messenger was directed to a northern keep, on the north wall, as a bedchamber. It was decorated with fine silk cloths and items from many places, all by reason of trade.

Glorfindel dried himself off, languidly, and removed his outer garments to dry. They remained stained, heavily, with rain. And following that, he dressed his harshly crimson wounds. Glorfindel wrapped his naked, yet covered in bandages, body in an imported material, and attempted to fall asleep.

It was very late when he was bound by repose. His breaths were slow and dark, as the elf thought of his ride and the message he bore.

The elf lay in a distant sleep, as if he was dead, for five days. If it was from his wounds, or his soporific behavior, the nobles did not know. King Thranduil came often and whispered things to him, prayers, and kissed him on the forehead as a child of three.

It was on the sixth day did Glorfindel awake. The rouse was severe, with much staggering pain from his wounds, and his head felt dizzy. He often mumbled things and drew deep breaths. Later that day, Glorfindel managed to mumble something.

"I remember coming here with a message. What was it, my lord? What was the message I had spoken of?" He felt loathsome and looked especially pale. Thranduil took his question very seriously, and returned it with a peculiar gaze.

"Glorfindel, what message do you speak of? I have heard nothing from you, however, I am glad you are able to speak otherwise," Glorfindel felt a stinging sensation, and he grew angry. _I remember vaguely coming here, wanting to speak to Thranduil in regard to something. Though, what was it? _He strained to speak, each breath held longer than the last.

The elf parted his lips and said: "I had a warning to tell you, yet, I cannot recollect it in my faint mind. It is quite a blur, my lord. I am sorry." Glorfindel lowered his sorrowful head in dishonor. Thranduil spoke: "Do not fear, Glorfindel, I am sure there is nothing to be spoken of that is so important that you would forget. Please, lay down once more, you look ill."

Thranduil eased the ailing elf comfortable into the bed, kissed his forehead, and bid him a good rest. He had other matters to attend to.

Click. Please?


	6. A Feast and An Alliance Part I

A/N: Thank you Noah Vail for the constructive criticism and all for the reviews. And remember, two wrongs are only the beginning.

The castle held a dark silence. It was sinister and plotting, carefully remaining soundless, as it should be. Thranduil had walked the corridors hastily. The torches were lit feverishly, and there were many of them, for it was night.

Small arrow slit-like windows provided the darkened and spooky corridors with an odd freshness. It was something calming and abrupt as it floated through the air and landed heavily upon the stone floor. The night was progressing swiftly, each new instant the moon grew higher into the blackened sky. It looked even brighter against the darkness of the heavens.

Thranduil's regal, and long, robes trailed him with each footstep. He walked slower, easing himself against the calmer night. _It has been seven days since I vowed my oath to my son concerning the orc raids. There have been no tidings of them, and I grow weary waiting. If there shall be no news in three days, I shall call everything off._

His mind was in a constant debate. The king's footsteps ceased as he slightly opened the door to Legolas's room. He was sleeping heavily on his side, in an unconscious oblivion. Thranduil carefully shut the door and strayed to his own sleeping chambers.

~*~

It was midday when Glorfindel spoke, with a certain prophet-like tone. He wailed something as if he was instantly aware of some unknown darkness: "My lord! My lord! Come quickly! My lord!" His heart beat feverishly; annoyed by the time it took Thranduil to arrive beside him. The king nearly ran to Glorfindel's chambers, in a distant haze.

"Tell me, Glorfindel, you know something I do not. Please, do not stray from it. Proclaim it now," Thranduil spoke uneasily. The messenger's eyes held an abroad fear, as if the words he was to speak were deadly: "I remember now, my lord! I do remember." Glorfindel eased his melodrama; "The scouts of Rivendell have reported orc legions heading east from Rivendell. Aye, orc legions! They are traveling this way, Thranduil. To Mirkwood, they are going."

The king's deep eyes widened. He felt an unsettled dread tug at his words, "Glorfindel, are you sure? I can simply trust you not for you have remained faint for several days now." And Glorfindel cried: "No! It is not false, what I speak. I can assure you, I swear, that all I have reported is directly from the lips of Lord Elrond."

"How immense is the orc legion?" Thranduil asked.

"Large, my lord. However, that is a dark advantage for they stray far from Mirkwood, and in the Misty Mountains. Though, they shall arrive, despite the duration it takes them to cross the mountains. From what I remember, you have nearly fifteen days." Glorfindel inhaled hastily, each breath iced in a distant faintness. 

The elf stammered in his pauses between words, "We have fifteen days before they arrive? Are you certain of this?" Glorfindel nodded. "Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. I owe it to you to rest now, for your wounds still bound you." 

Thranduil left and called a guard to fetch the King of Marshlond, who was staying in Mirkwood for five further days. However, with the tidings, it may as well be twenty. Urendor came to the kings, upon hearing he was needed. They sat in the king's study.

"The messenger of Rivendell has told me something I think you should know," Thranduil paused, each second growing longer, "An orc legion is to arrive in Mirkwood in fifteen days." 

Urendor gasped near unnoticeably: "That would mean the trade routes are further spent! We must secure ours, form an alliance." The king of Mirkwood sheltered a glint in his eye, "You must understand that I do not trust you, fully, until the joining is declared."

"As do I," The elf smirked, "Thus, we must make haste. Within ten days, both marriage shall be finalized and army shall be assembled." Urendor scratched his chin and saw as the other being nodded in satisfaction and agreement.

"We must disguise the announcement," Thranduil suggested, "in a feast!" His words were quick and clever. He nodded, yet with no arrogance, barely noticeably. The elf was proud of both his notion and cleverness. Urendor nodded in approval as well.

Thranduil held out his wrist, "Then let it be known, a feast to disguise the alliance and a marriage to hold it." His words were hearty and noble, lacking immediate stops in his breath or trembling to his words. The king of Marshlond shook it cordially, bowed, and departed from the warmth of the large castle study.

~*~ 

It would be three days until the feast was held. The great Hall of the King was decorated in an especially non-plain fashion. There were many colours, vivid and bright, from purples to reds especially. The moon was nearly coming, as the sun just barely touched the reddened line of the horizon.

A faint tune was heard, played by a great musician. The hall was somewhat empty, only the king and his advisors remained. Thranduil smiled as the scent of food was brought from the kitchens and into the main hallway. The feast was soon to begin.

"Belerion, go fetch my son. I am positive he is at the courtyard garden," The king dismissed the servant and continued walking down the hall, head raised slightly in an act of excellency. 

It seemed as if the darkened trees provided little cover from the son. However, it was the clearing made for the castle that made it possible to see the sun. It was blood red in colour, and just, barely, behind the great horizon. The garden was only a few paces from the courtyard. It was very detailed and plush, for it was between fine soil and sunlight.

The attendant ran from the castle's gate and into the courtyard, paved with cobblestones. There was little population on the streets, as they were preparing for the banquet. He ran towards the brilliant garden, a slight smile appearing on his noble face. 

The garden was a plush mixture of sweet aromas and gleaming plants, which seemed very much enchanted. A dazzling sun enlightened them at an extent. The messenger ran into the garden, yet, calming himself so even he could enjoy the blissful garden.

There was a small black bench, decorated with intricate designs of some unknown realm. Legolas was sitting upon it, in a quite elegant robe of white. He seemed to be in a dimension that was not Middle Earth, but far, far away.

"My lord, Prince," he stuttered quite unnoticeably, hoping not to startle the elf. Legolas shook from his daze and calmly replied: "The feast is starting, is it not?" His expression was as plain as a raven and shown of nothing but the slight movement in his lips. The elf did seem neither angry nor exited at the faintest.

The servant bowed, "Aye, my lord. Your father wishes me to fetch you before it starts." And Legolas followed Belerion into the courtyards, feeling a longing to return to the garden, to his blissful haven, which was mostly carefree and generally happy. He spent many hours there. 

"Son! Please, your Lady is waiting in her chamber. You are to escort her to the castle's gate and greet the guests. Is that clear, Legolas?" Thranduil spoke, hastily, with a lovely grin upon his face. He did love these banquets, even if they were in the matter of war.

Legolas stepped forward, bowed slightly so that his authority was not questioned, and ran upstairs for when the sky was soaked in black, the feasting would begin. He felt an instant happiness, but fear, as he remembered, as a favour, Radais would arrive. 

~*~

Radais cautiously stepped from the bleached shadows of the room. Her hand was resting upon her hips and she looked queenly. She was wearing a something quite different from the normal, hand woven by Glaradith. It was a deep shade of red, a dull and dark red that seemed to hold no light. 

"You look absolutely brilliant, my dear. Now come, make haste, you have far to travel," Glaradith appeared from the masked darkness. In her hand she carried a bag of some sort of sand, a green type that looked as some sort of pixie dust.

The binding light of the sun was now finally vanishing from the view. Her hair was braided and wrapped around the crown of her head. Radais appeared masterly enchanted, however, not gorgeous. Glaradith took another step forward, admiring the outcome of her apprentice.

"Radais, I want you to take this," she handed her the brown sack of dust. Radais looked at her questionably, yet said nothing. Her silence was rewarded by a retort triggered by a silent inquiry; "It is a potion. I suggest you drop a morsel into the prince's chalice and once he drinks it-"

The elf clenched her teeth together, "will fall in love with me, is that not true?" Her intense eyes focused now on the mocking expression of Glaradith. "Why do you give this to me? It is not mine to decide the fate of a prince, nevertheless, the kingdom of Mirkwood!" Radais stood her stance; her words wisely spoke, no doubt.

"It will give you the power of queenship, my child. That puppy bitch, Amathien, does not deserve it for she is fragile and cowardly. Your mother borne a leader and a queen." Glaradith took her apprentice's hand, gently, feeling her dark stare upon her eyes, and guided it into the pocket of her gown. Radais knelt at the old woman's feet, giving her homage.

The elf stood, fully aware of her decision, "Very well, Glaradith. Please wish me luck and hope that the feast will go well." Radais kissed the woman's brow and stepped into the chilliness of the night, as if, indeed, the kismet of Mirkwood was bestowed upon her, whether it be gift or curse.

~*~

Amathien waited upon the foot of the staircase. The elf felt herself afraid of the event, of the people coming to watch her make toasts and talk idly. Legolas arrived only moments later. 

"My queen, you look lovely, as always," he added. The elf found it so very strange that she only spoke but few words and did laugh not. "Come, madam. I suspect the crowds will arrive at any time now." Legolas gave her a warm grin, and the elf walked cautiously, and rather faintly, down the long staircase. The prince looked upon her, she was as a doll. Her gown was fine, white silk with gold about it, and her hair was bound by many fine braids.

The moon was already appearing in the sky as the two walked from the guarded entrance. Torches, made from refined wood, lit the passageway. The light was very present, any elf could see, and gave off a certain warmth. Five or six elves already came to the courtyard, adorned in their fine gowns and tunics, whereupon bowed to the prince and the princess and went inside.

This would go on for many more minutes. Legolas grew weary of the bowing, happy masquerade, feeling the night grow on him sluggishly, wearing on idly. When the guests had finally entered the castle and found their seats at the long table, filled with many different foods and wine, Legolas and Amathien entered the room as well.

It was when every elf was seated did Thranduil announce his welcomes and declarations, "Welcome all to this lovely feast!" And they all cried, merrily, "aye!" "Our cooks have provided us with many foods and wines, as you can see." The king hid behind a disguise of happiness. _A disguise can alter many faces._

"However, that is why I called you here not. There is a matter I would like to announce," It was now the King of Mirkwood would proclaim the unity of his realm and that of Marshlond, disguised in an alliance. He then thought, once more, _One disguise can alter many faces, _"I ask you all to raise your chalices and give praise to the new joining of Princess Amathien of Marshlond and Prince Legolas of Mirkwood!"

It seemed the moment froze in an endless bliss not for both father and son. They truly knew this was not of love, but of strategy. And Radais, who had seated herself looming the prince, knew this well. She would let no small detail surpass her intense eyes. The elf yearned with the feeling of touch, remembering when she had escorted him to his chamber. And then Radais felt a thread of jealousy as Amathien stood with her prince. However, the apprentice was wise and kept her face in a dark state, as the crowds, joyful and unknowing, cheered.

She removed the small pouch of potion and studied it, as if suddenly astounded by it. _The choices are difficult. I, within my very palm, have the chance to receive what I want, but possibly ruin it for those under Thranduil and Urendor._ Radais, secluded in her own boundary of thought, wove through the merry crowds and reached the balcony. It was now in which she decided.

Clickidy click click click..


	7. A Feast and An Alliance Part II

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest by about 500 words. I just found that the cutting point was appropriate. Enjoy and remember: Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.

Her dismal eyes watched as the dust, sparkling and enchanted, flew into the tips of the trees below. She felt herself breakdown, begin to weep. Yet, held her composer. _I can make him desire me without altering the tale. And if he does not, then I know it was meant to be not. _Radais thought reasonably, and returned from the brilliant surge of night.

"Ah, Lady Radais, Legolas was just telling us about you and how you gave him shelter when he found himself lost. Please, if you will, play us something on the Shalaquin. And perhaps Legolas could sing an old ballad to enlighten us," King Thranduil suggested. The young elf did not change expressions and felt some type of abashment wash over her as she quickly walked to the long-necked instrument.

The apprentice's fingers were find and played with ease, for she wove constantly, as a lady should. Legolas, in a lovely voice, clear and bright, sung of a familiar ballad concerning the spring, which the elves loved dearly. Radais grew weary after the long refrain was finished and said, in a low and dark voice, yet rich, "I think that is all I can play tonight. My prince, you do have a marvelous singing voice." She complimented, rising from the beautiful instrument.

"Why thank you my lady. And I do ponder, have you met Amathien yet?" Radais instantly turned bitter. Her lips froze as the beautiful maiden appeared before her. 

_She is so lovely and bright, yet here I am, dark and plain as a blackbird. _The apprentice felt her bones tense as Amathien stepped foreword. Her intense eyes looked for Legolas, yet all she saw were merry elves eating and talking idly.

"Hello, Countess Radais," the young maiden's hands shook unknowingly. Amathien seemed afraid and spoke in a sweet, timid voice. Radais stared at her and felt her own insides grow warm. Was it jealousy, malice, or anguish she did not know. Perhaps it was all three?

The apprentice finally spoke: "I am gratified to speak with the future Queen of Mirkwood, my lady." Amathien blushed happily but said very little. "You must feel lucky to have both Prince Legolas and Mirkwood to rule." The maiden took this a bit offensively. If she did not lack so much wit, Radais may consider speaking to her less formally.

"I do enjoy the fate, Countess. However, with all this talk of war, I feel worried," _Of course she does; the Princess is a fragile, cowardly, little doll! _Radais thought, utterly bitter. "I hope the prince likes me and does not reproach me about little things I do wrong."

The apprentice found this fitting. She turned to the Princess, as she felt Radais was mocking her, using words as her pawns. Amathien quickly spoke: "You are a fine player." 

"Why thank you, Princess. I am so sorry, but I feel as if the dining has begun. I am sure Prince Legolas is waiting for you," Radais said harshly, the darkness of her voice chilling the elf. Amathien quickly, yet gracefully, scurried to her regal chair.

~*~

After the food was nearly gone, left in messy piles upon the plates and silverware, Legolas began to say farewell to those who left. The feast was over. Both ladies stayed after, longing for affection from the prince.

When the final guests left, all slightly drunken with wine, Legolas turned to the two, "Did you enjoy the feast, my ladies?" He bore a slight grin on his stern face. Amathien nearly let out a small giggle, enchanted by his words. _Still, ladies? He should be talking to me, his fated wife, and not some ugly demon thing from the forest! _She thought, with much internal hate. Yet, it seemed she was too pure to show it on her face.

"Indeed, my lord," Radais inched closer, feeling her lips tremble uncontrollably. She hoped Legolas noticed it not. "I am very charmed that you chose to invite me, for I have been to no feasts before." _Of course not, fiends only go to massacres. _Amathien sighed. The elf felt herself quiver. _I should not be thinking this, I am an elf, I am pure and loving. _

Legolas grinned, then took a sip of warm wine then gave a bit to Amathien, a hint of pleasure upon his face. The apprentice felt a darkened barrier come between them, feeling hopeless and grim. She wanted his affection more than anything, and nearly regretted throwing the potion away. Radais desired him that much.

It seemed that all her hopes of the prince shattered. Radais frowned, in utter disappointment and torture. _I could have had him on this night, to myself. Yet, I did not choose it. What an idiot I am..I want him more than the very air I breathe! _

The apprentice looked at Legolas strangely. In the very moment, he laid a gentle kiss on Amathien, surely not drunk, out of love for her beauty only. She seemed to lack everything but certain traits like timidity and fragileness. Radais looked away, ashamed that she ever thought she could have this beautiful creature for herself. The elf felt her mind fall into a blackness, unaware of the horrid feeling in her heart, feeling the moments notice of numbness. Radais felt as if she would stumble from the castle and weep until she could no more. She breathed in heavily, holding the shattered longing for Legolas still within her. 

"I think I shall go now. Thank you, again, for the marvelous feast. Farewell Princess, farewell," the elf felt herself break, "Prince." And she heard behind her: "Do you know where my father is?" _Is that all Legolas can say? I long for him as I value my life and he does not feel the same as I.._she reminded herself.

Radais turned and said darkly, "I know not." Then, in an instant, she fled from the castle, swiftly, each stride faster and more sorrowful than the last.

~*~

"You did not use the potion?" Glaradith snarled, a bitterness coming from her lips. And the apprentice, eyes red from weeping, "I did not, Glaradith, nor did I plan to. It is not the right of mine to meddle in the affairs of royalty!" She yelped. Radais knew what the witch wanted. _Glaradith desires the power over the monarchy._

The old woman clenched her teeth together. It was a dark night, which made the shadows creep into the room quicker, "I only wanted you, secluded to this very cottage all your life, to know what love is, my child. I am not doing this for authority, I have enough being a sorceress. Yet, you have never, once loved any he-elf, and I gave you the ultimate chance. Why did you not choose to use the potion? You had the claim, as a maiden, to use it!"

The compassion showed in her eyes, represented by a dull sparkle. _It is out of love does she scold me for not using it. _Radais felt herself break once more, completely, and began to weep, moaning sounds coming from her lips. "I am a fool! Please, Glaradith, do not send me away for my own stupid deed! I made a careless mistake, lady, please!" The apprentice pleaded. "Legolas is meant to be mine, by your rule, however, Glaradith, he is not."

With that, the elf ran from the cottage and into the forest. Glaradith called after her, and ran after her, yet only reaching a mile radius. She was now in the depths of the haunted Mirkwood forest, filled with orcs and spiders. It was by chance Radais should ever come back.

Any suggestions for the next few chapters?


	8. The Silence is Broken

A/N: I am getting this fic done by my birthday. I promise. One chapter to go! Also, remember always, when in doubt, poke it with a 

stick.

It was early dawn when a scout, patrolling the eastern edge of Mirkwood delivered a message that would alter everything.

The day was extremely dull, seeing as the clouds held a listless white to them. It appeared they did not drift, but stay watching over the castle ever so grimly. And a cold wind from the west blew through the trees and undergrowth. The weather was utterly spooky, touched by both chill and void.

"King Thranduil! King Thranduil!" Called the servant. He raced through the royal corridors as Legolas stirred from his bed and stammered from his chamber. The king remained quite faint, yet happy, as he slept tenderly about his bed.

Yet, the servant called once more: "Please, my lord, awaken! This is urgent! King Thranduil!" His mewling, nearly whining, voice trailed the hallways. King Thranduil heard this, only softly as he was in a deep sleep, and ran into the hallway. A gentle light from the nearly visible not sun ran in through the arrow slit windows.

"Fenir, why do you stir me so early? I had but a bit of peaceful rest and yet you burden me with simple cries? What of the matter?" He, obviously, irritably asked. Thranduil scratched his stern face, showing rare anger, and stood before the bearer.

"My lord, this is urgent and I am very sorry to have awakened you," The king then clenched his teeth together and cried: "What is so urgent? An ill message of the kitchen maids? Or that, perhaps, my horse has lost its shoe?"

The messenger took this offensively yet did not show it, "No, sire. It is far more important than that of dumb kitchen gossip. The orc legion that Lord Glorfindel described are not coming in fifteen days, as he said, they are here now."

Thranduil instantly froze, dumbfounded. His voice trembled as he did, indeed, attempt to speak: "The orcs are progressing near Mirkwood?"

"Aye, King Thranduil, as we very speak."

The king ran to his chambers and hastily readied himself in fine robes and sent for Legolas. Legolas was already aware of the matter as he stumbled, still drowsy, into the room. The elf bore a great yew bow and a quiver full of arrows. His focus was on what he should do and stood before his father impatiently. Both father and son were in a state of panic.

"Make haste! Make haste!" And Legolas cried: "Calm yourself, my lord and my father. Please, calm yourself." He said soothingly, "I shall take the reserves of the camp and fight as my own burden. It may be for my kingdom, for my respect."

King Thranduil smiled gently, letting his lips move as if he could not control them, "Very well. I bid you great luck, my son." He felt a quiver of pain ease him not as Legolas kissed his brow and ran from the very chamber.

The elf felt a pride as each stride brought him closer to the camp. He, when finally reaching it, called out: "The orc legion is heading for Mirkwood! Bestir, and follow me!" The soldiers, who were sleeping merrily, yawned and stretched. They remained both bewildered and anxious.

Legolas ran to the stable and told the lad to fetch him a horse. He fleetly scurried, most nervously in fact, into the midst of the hay and oats. The horse, when brought out, was a beautiful stallion that earned much respect from the prince. However, there was little time to demonstrate it. That same panic soaked Legolas's thoughts as he mounted the horse and guided it to the camp.

The soldiers were reading themselves when he arrived. A chilling breeze ran through the shade trees that surrounded the camp. Legolas eased his stallion and cried out to the warriors: "Hurry now! Hurry, my comrades!" His words were swift and carried through the wind. The soldiers armed themselves with chain mail from the dwarves and grabbed their longbows.

Legolas led his horse south as the elven knights bravely marched forward, knowing that any one of them could die in a matter of minutes. And the prince was frightened as well, yet he did let no expression of fear linger on his stern face. The sky seemed emptier as the small army paraded through the great city of Mirkwood. 

He turned towards the closest of his foot soldiers and then towards the banner barer. The elf felt insecure about his position upon the horse. _It seems as if I shall be the first to die upon a stallion. _Legolas thought harshly. His attention was turned to the direction of east. The forest was a haunting shade of something like dull silver, nearly gray. A haunting void covered the forest canopy.

For another three miles they marched into the dreadful groves. Each elf was expecting an orc attack at any minute, especially Legolas. He shifted uneasily upon his comely horse often. It was a haunting silence when they reached a deep lowland which seemed to hold a dry air.

Legolas heard something rattle in the nearby bushes. He turned to his right and eyed the area intensely, almost knowing what would happen next. The soldiers turned their attention to the region as well, glancing at it with tension growing.

With much mental notice, a horrid war cry was heard. The prince swiftly heard this and alerted his troops: "Stay in your positions! We will attack at my sign!" His horse neighed madly and stomped. The soldiers grew reckless, yet they were noble and stood at their heir's side. Many elves, nearly them all, would die for their king, or their prince.

"Steady, steady.." Legolas's voice grew faint. Thereupon, a horde of orcs, nearly fifty of them, leaped from the verdant grasses. The elves froze in a sort of silent panic. Legolas cried, as the orcs approached: "Beset!" And they did.

The elves, who were armed with short blades, ran forward, the prince's loud and stable voice echoing throughout the forests. A grand amount of barbs shot through the air and nailed the assaulting orcs to trees and whatnot. Their thick, cold blood dripped from the wounds of the flesh that was ripped open and onto the forest ground. And the elves continued to fire.

Legolas kicked his stallion. He was further panicked that he, himself, was charging into battle as it stood. The elf sternly pulled the arrows from his quiver and shot two at a time, slaying few fiends at a time. However, they still ran forth, calling a horrid screech like cry, and the elves grew even more alarmed for they were outnumbered five to one.

__

They just keep nearing, as if they shall never recede, or stop in that matter. We must retreat into the thick forests swiftly. That way, we can attack from the treetops, a place where they cannot reach us. Legolas pondered. His mind was quickly decided and he ordered, in a slightly angry voice: "Retreat to the trees! Retreat to the trees!" 

In a disoriented manner, the elves raced to the outskirts of the forest. The orcs were of little swiftness compared to that of an elf. They endeavored harshly to climb about the limps and whatnot of the forest. Legolas led the remaining soldiers to a realm he ventured to before. Rotting corpses of already slain orcs lay before the retreating company. Indeed, the prince had wagered to this region before.

~*~

Radais felt a deep fear engross her. She shivered, due not to temperature, but the tension of the moment. _Orc cries. I hear.._she paused in fear that the creatures could hear her heartbeat. _..the rustle of bushes. They are coming! _

The apprentice felt her breaths quicken, grow more frightened. However, it was not her very inhale that made her shudder, it was the beating of her conscious. Radais felt a surge of coldness flow over her body. She wanted, needed, her prince.

Her steps were quicker as the harsh beating of the leaves and undergrowth grew louder. Radais felt a panic win her over. She felt as if she was running towards a spiral of nothing, a blackness oblivion.

No, indeed, she was running to her cottage.

Radais carefully heard the steps recede. A breath of relief overcame her. However, the elf did not stop from her alarmed feat to her haven. The lack of light did help her, verily, for she did see in the distance a blinding light upon the green of the forest.

When she reached her cottage, a frightful emptiness soaked her mind. Radais felt as though shadows had consumed her cottage. It was dreary and unkempt. _I do know that Glaradith would never allow messiness_.._where is she? _Being less educated than most, yet wise, Radais drew a knife from the kitchen and promptly walked further into the main hall.

The rooms were covered in items from the shelves. She gasped in confusion, particularly. Her heart beat quicker and her hands shook abruptly. Radais stepped into the haunting room, examining everywhere, making sure Glaradith was there not.

Instantly, her keen hearing noticed something. The rustle in the leaves had returned! Radais knelt against the wall, in fear and bewilderment. _O where is Glaradith in this time of strife? _Her hand uneasily guided her to the next room and to her dismay, the woman who had reared her was lying slain in a horrid puddle of crimson.

~*~

"This way! Make haste for they are not receding!" Legolas urged his stallion forward. The determination to please both his father and his kingdom was relevant. In the distance lay a grove and then a haven of light.

And the prince cried: "To the light! To the light!" 

The soldiers, some still falling behind attempting to slay the beasts, headed for the brilliance nearly convinced that it was their sanctuary. However, they found this to be not true and punished themselves for being wise not. The light was a happy thing, indeed, yet the orcs continued to struggle to take them of their lives.

The elves climbed into the tree limbs, attempting to disguise themselves and made it easier to fire. Legolas directed his stallion from the forest, however, it remained at his side. He dragged it to a region and tied its reins to a tree. Thereupon, he climbed the tree himself.

_The cottage! I know where we are. _He thought tensely. The elf gripped onto a rough vine and swung himself onto a limb. _If those orcs find the cottage, they will slay Radais undoubtedly. _Legolas felt his mind fall into a darkness. He was at a crucial point where he would either sacrifice himself or the one he felt affection toward.

It was then he froze. 

Bwahah cliffe. I have a tendency to kill off a ton of OC's so beware. But then again, I've killed off some canons too..just check my other fics. Until next chappy- Pop Goes the Weasel and Other Microwave Games. 


	9. Forest Amidst the Blood

A/N: Yay! Done! And on my birthday. Actually at 11:58 I was done. Still, on my birthday. I just turned 13. Sorry, random I know. Cannot believe I got done with it in an hour.. ramble ramble. Ah well, last chappy to go.

Legolas had a scarce amount of time, yet, he could easily fetch Radais and bring her to the trees. But o! there came the orcs from the darkness of the forest. There was no time, no time to decide. The prince inhaled roughly and leaped from the trees.

His stern and clever eyes were focused upon the cottage. _Those fiends have been here heretofore. Radais gods willing could have been slain and my rescue would be in vain. _Legolas argued within himself, yet his stride did not slow. He finally approached the door and ran inside for it was already opened and bore scratching of orc claws.

"Radais, come!" The elf called out. Legolas felt a sort of emptiness consume him as he took one more step, continuing to call out: "Radais! Come!" Until his conscious bid him yell no more. Instead, his steps were swifter as those of the beasts did as well. 

Legolas searched every room, or he thought, and hung his head for the apprentice was not to be found. The rustle in the leaves and undergrowth grew fiercely louder and the prince panicked. A determination and guilt was still upon his shoulders.

_Remember the little things about this damned cottage. _Legolas thought angrily, yet sorrowfully. _There are two rooms upstairs. Or is it three? _He felt his lips shake noticeably. The elf ran up the steps, which still cackled and shook at his step. When he approached the corridor, the orcs approached the door. _I have only enough time to sift but one room. _

Thereupon, he remembered something that Glaradith had spoken him of: _Do not forget petty things, for they could get you killed one day. _And Legolas wanted to crawl into a corner and weep like a babe of three. However, he was a prince and heir to the throne of Mirkwood and one as that would not fall at something as ill as this.

He ran into the second room, and the horrid squeals of the orcs grew louder as they broke things in the kitchen. Legolas ran swiftly about the room, each step draining him of hope. _O Radais where are you? _

When he had searched every possible place in the room, the elf heard the stairs wobble and screech. His legs did not appear to take any stride seeing as the prince was stranded in an oblivion of pity, guilt, and sorrow. However, Legolas pushed himself with determination and leaped from the window onto a tree branch. His gentle hands gripped the vine and his swung up. 

_Was there anything more I could do?_

~*~

Radais felt her heart race faster. The orcs were coming up the steps and her prince had left her. Why did he forget? She thought. A harsh squeak of the door made her shiver uncontrollably and the elf began to pray for her life. 

"Legolas! Prince!" Radais cried. _If he could just hear it.._yet he did not and the fiends just kept filling the room with their vile smells and weapons. The apprentice armed herself with the knife and crawled under the bed in hopes they would overlook her.

Despite her stillness, the fiends smelled the elf. Radais swung the knife violently, yet it did little. The orcs dragged her from the bed and everything seemed blurry to the elf. She felt everything she ever loved fade away into nothing.

Then she pictured something ill to her mind. Amathien, that little pure doll, nestle her prince's head at her breast as he hungrily planted kissed. She tried to shake the thought; yet, it did not leave her frightened imagination. Thereupon, Radais pictured the princess moaning as Legolas pulled the velvet covers aloft their heads.

_No! No! This is not true, or shall it be not. No! _Radais clenched the dagger and angrily and grievously thought: _This is perfect, it will seem as though the orcs killed me. It shall cover up for my horrid weakness. _

It was then the elf, left arm still bound by the barbed hands of the orcs, tightened her grip upon the knife and held it to her throat. Glaradith was slain and Legolas never loved her. Radais was alone. She then pulled it across her throat as the tears began to spill. The elf saw nothing.

~*~

The following day, after a long campaign against the orcs, the weakened army arrived at the gates of the Courtyard of Mirkwood. They bore long scars and wore tattered, bloodstained clothing. Legolas was indeed still alive, yet hurt. 

His wounds were first tended to, followed by the cleaning of those following the prince. It was a pleasant, sunny day above the dreary canopy. However, lower it remained dark and grim. Legolas sheltered a horrid, torturous guilt. 

_Radais lies slain. She is slain! _His conscious cried. Heavy shackles of burdens were placed upon his weary shoulders and he realized this fully. But was there anything he could do to prevent the death of Radais? He shuddered violently and his stare towards the heavens was long. The elf felt as though some type of light would come from the canopy, as though the tree limbs would separate so he could see the beauty of the world.

_There is no more beauty upon the world Manwe has blessed. It is now covered in the deadliest of wars and the bloodiest of grounds._ Legolas nearly threw himself to the ground and wept, yet, held his posture for he was not going to show his weakness.

He wanted some divine spirit as Manwe to take pity on him. The elf longed for an end to the horrid life he led of bloodshed and killing, not only of the enemy, but also of the ones he loved as well. Legolas mentally struggled to create a place where nothing wrong happened; a paradise.

_The elf slowly idealized a land full of nothing but gentle rays upon a shoreline and rolling hills of emerald. Still, there was much more detail. Tiny cottages, balanced upon mounds of waterfalls, nestled in the hills. They sat far apart, yet close to trees. Mentally, Legolas turned behind him._

A forest of pure verdant and small dewdrops held awe to him. It was pure and delicate, yet somehow a stronghold. A dainty breeze from the west cradled the leaves and brushed past the undergrowth of the forest. Bright yellow and pink flowers greeted him as Legolas walked deeper into the forest. A masterly created arch hung upon the tree branches and wove itself around the trunks. Somehow, it signified a specific place within the mystical grove.

Still, psychically, the elf wandered deeper into the forest. 

He looked down upon his attire. It was a faint white material that bore no stains of blood nor rips in the stitches. The prince wore no shoes, not even light boots. Somehow, he left no mark in the dirt and seemed to flowingly walk as if on a haze.

It was then he visioned a giant white castle within a huge, bright clearing. The castle was made of pure white stone that, alike the forest, seemed gentle yet was strong and reliable. It seemed to protect something. Legolas appeared to lose breath, in not awe but a distinct fear. Was it fear of losing that importance or fear of finding out what was inside, he did not know.

A chilling sound of some unknown bird caught his attention. Legolas was no longer in the mystical paradise, but in his own land, in his own land of bloodshed and war. Where he could seek refuge from the haunting place, he did not know. The solitude he was confined to was a barren room of chalky walls and pillars. Also, a single window remained near the north wall.

He quietly wandered outside, using clever excuses as "I need a bit of fresh air for it is awfully cluttered about the room" and such to get around the tedious guards and midwifes. Each step into the beautiful pink and purple light made Legolas sacrifice more of himself to an oblivious host.

Finally, and with much struggle, the elf found himself in the Garden of Mirkwood. His wounds were stinging with each step, yet he was determined to escape the walls of the castle. There sat the bench, unoccupied and lovely. It just sat there, and the stillness in this beautiful place was something that enlightened Legolas. He yearned for a calmness.

Hitherto, it would not come. The elf's mind was cluttered with guilt. _If I had just taken heed to Glaradith's word, Radais would not be slain. If I had only done something as simple as that.. _Legolas felt shackles pull at his unconscious. As soon as they tightened and bound him to that guilt, he shed a tear as though it was drained from the heavy chains.

And he pondered his life for many minutes, searching endlessly for an answer to unwritten questions. It was near an hour, although elves relied not on hours and minutes but day and night, when he heard a voice.

"Legolas," It was a clear and low voice and the prince recognized it easily. He replied: "I am sorry Father, I was just taking a walk and I got preoccupied by the beauty of this garden." Despite the unsettlement of his mind, Legolas's voice was serene and strong. It seemed as though elves did not wear their emotions on their faces.

"It is alright, my son. I have just come to inform you that the unity between Princess Amathien and you is a casualty now. Because many orcs, nearly all of them moreover, have perished during your campaign, the trade routes are useable again. Thus, no alliance should be made in the matter of barter. Is not that fine? Now, you can chose freely your bride." Thranduil stepped closer. His long and richly dyed robes trailed him. The forest was extremely serene right now. Legolas could only hear a swift calling of a bird.

He swallowed, with no shudder, and said: "Indeed, my father." And said no more. Was it the loss of words or the loss of reason to say them he did not know.

"The King and Princess of Marshlond are departing tomorrow morning. Please bid them a farewell before they leave, Legolas," The king said, a slight grin upon his fair face. Legolas replied: "I will certainly." His words were short and barely audible, yet strong.

Thranduil silently disappeared into the gentle colours of the forest. The young elf dismissed the thought of guilt from his mind, even if only for an instant, and thought of his forest. 

_And slowly, with much wonder, he entered the courtyard. The elf did not know, exactly, what the castle conceived, yet he knew it was protection again the haunting reminder of bloodshed in his own land. Suddenly, the lanky drawbridge signaled for him to ender the citadel._

Legolas then saw a figment of his father. He turned to see a blurry vision of his mother and then one of his distant family. The elf gasped at the thought of seeing those he never did. And then he saw Radais, plain and dark, yet enchanting. She held a beauty that was not her own, but one of the elves of ancient times. 

And even if just a figment, it seemed so true.. 

**Fin**

-Guinevere-

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Bwahaha done! My muse, Pencil Bob, is happy too because he doesn't like Legolas very much. Also, he was getting sort of pricey. Okay, as always, review please!


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